


After the Funeral

by jumbi



Series: Filling the Void [13]
Category: Super Paper Mario (Game)
Genre: Fishing, Gen, Wakes & Funerals, anecdotes, but they fail together and that's what matters, failed card tricks, failed fishing, failed whistling, pregame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumbi/pseuds/jumbi
Summary: o'chunks recognizes there's only so much you can do by burying a jar. the count and nastasia are forced to recognize the limits of what they can do for o'chunks.





	After the Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> this short scene takes place in my larger comic story "filling the void". it takes place directly after scene 70 (in which o'chunks finishes folding his paper stars in memorial of his troops).  
> in this continuity, o'chunks was the oldest of seven siblings who all joined the military together.

They had left O’Chunks at the top of the hill. It seemed right, to leave him be, with his jar, and his shield, and his shrine. In the meantime the Count mulled over how  _small_  it all felt. If it weren’t for this small detour, it would simply feel like any other day. He supposed it would be hard to tell, for him; every day felt the same regardless.

Nastasia had begun speaking while he was distracted. He missed her first few words before he could focus in on her voice. “… go too far from here while he’s up there. It was a long way from camp, and he might not remember how to get back. ‘K?”

The Count blinked. “Yes, yes.” He paused, then straightened his back in resolve. “Nastasia, I think we should do something nice for O’Chunks,” he announced.

Nastasia stared at him. “We, um, just did the…”

“That’s not  _enough_ ,” he huffed. “Nothing more than a moment out of our day? What else are we busying ourselves with?”

She bit her lip. “That’s a good point…”

The Count watched her. The sunlight shone off her hair in bright pinpricks and darkened her glasses. She was picking at her nail, the way she liked to when she wanted the Count to continue before she proceeded. But the question couldn’t seem to make its way to his mouth. He got caught on the tenuous connection between his mind and body and briefly examined the strange nature of converting thoughts to words.

“What do you think we should do, Count?” Nastasia asked, for him. But he didn’t have an answer, much less the question. He gestured helplessly.

He had watched O’Chunks fold a paper star each day without fail. He would no longer have that routine, he would no longer be working with his paper as the Count dragged himself out of the sleep-haze every morning. What could they possibly do to match up with this dedication?

“Can you narrow it down at all?” She was practically feeding him the conversation, but his mind had apparently decided to celebrate its single achievement for the day and quit while it was ahead. He opened his mouth, then gave up and closed it again. Somewhere, off to the right, a bee bumbled through the air. His ear twitched irritably.

“… Okay, um, do you want to look at the maps?” Nastasia prompted. It was so easy to become distracted by the act of listening, rather than actually listening.

“The… maps…” the Count nodded, squinting his eyes shut. The daylight warmed itself through his eyelids.

“I’ve been, y’know, making little notes. Which worlds have inns. Which ones are hostile. That kind of thing.”

The Count nodded again. “As soon as h-he returns… Thank you.” He rubbed his forehead, brushing aside the damp fluff. “Y-yes… We should be able to, ah, to return to previous worlds…”

Nastasia’s brow crept over the rim of her glasses. “Are you sure you’re up to it, sir?”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “Let us, er, move to the shade.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

She led his retreat to the cover of the trees. Their quills littered the ground, and would get caught in the fringes of his cloak, but it didn’t matter. The Count swept the fabric back and leaned against the nearest trunk. Their bark had a strange texture here, very geometrical. The stark corners dug into his back, but his cloak softened the edges. Even the thickest, bulkiest trees had an air of flimsiness about them. But the Count wasn’t heavy enough to budge them just by leaning.

Already the leaf-filtered light brought his eyes some relief. The Count considered his options. “We should not revisit a world with too many humans,” he offered. Nastasia nodded once.

“Yeah, so, that rules out a couple choices. Don’t want to take any unnecessary risks today,” she agreed, tapping her claws against the bark with a tiny  _scritch_.

He fell silent. All the worlds in the last years looked so similar, in retrospect. He’d never be able to pick one to revisit. They were all empty. He grimaced when he thought of all the worlds they had visited and not searched. So much lost time.

Nastasia must have noticed the look on his face, because she leaned farther into his field of view. “Boss?”

“Yes, Nastasia?” He dragged his claw down his face. He needed to move, to occupy his rickety mind. He gently drifted back in the direction of their campsite. O’Chunks’ footfalls were a distant but steady noise from the hill. It would not take long to catch up to them.

She folded her hands behind her back as they walked. “Just, um, checking in. We should brainstorm some activity options before he catches up.”

The Count nearly snorted. “He would be much better at this…”

“Yeah, well, y’know. We shouldn’t ask him to make any calls right now.”

The Count nodded, but didn’t say anything else, and Nastasia gave up.

O’Chunks fell into stride beside Nastasia. “We headin’ back?”

“Yes. Nastasia and I have a matter to discuss.”

The grin was nearly audible. “Perfecting yer tic-tac-toe strategy?”

“Please,” Nastasia huffed. “We’ve moved on from that. Three dimensions is our next project.”

O’Chunks chuckled weakly. “Tha’ still falls under th’umbrella, lass.” The grass brushed under his dragging feet. The Count’s ears flicked at the sound. No, they simply couldn’t leave the day as it was.

They walked in comfortable silence. The Count struggled to yank his mind back into reality. The dappled light was certainly more tolerable than the bright clearing and the hill, but something about the air was irritating him.  _Nastasia referred to it as ‘allergies,’_  his memory declared, unbidden. Holding up its prize as if it had picked a diamond from Jaydes’ own pocket.

Well, at least  _something_  had come back.

Their campsite had picked up a few curious critters, but O’Chunks chased them off without fanfare. Nastasia strode directly over to her backpack and picked it up, and nearly dragged the Count off into the trees. The Count glanced back over his shoulder at O’Chunks, who was rolling his eye and sighing. The Count blinked apologetically before he lost sight of the camp.

“’K, so,” she began, laying the two maps out on the grass. The Count squinted down at them. “I was making some mental notes while we were walking, and I have a few options for your review.” She motioned, so the Count crouched down further, tilting his head to one side to get a better look.

One map was blank. She tapped the marked map with a claw, drawing the Count’s attention to the ink. “According to my records there’s about half a dozen worlds that are marked for good day trips. We could always swing by a nice park…”

The Count sniffed and rubbed his nose once absently. “Perhaps. What is this world here?”

“Oh, that one had several different races in the town we visited, so we’d be safe. I made a note of its concert hall.”

“Classical music would put O’Chunks to sleep.”

“Ha, yeah…”

“Oh! I remember this one. I have an idea…”

It took only a short time to arrange. Or, it seemed like a short time, with the heaviness of the air. Packing the campsite was a blur of moving his hands around, picking things up and folding them or passing them to O’Chunks. Nastasia held the map out in front of the Count as he lifted his wand, focused on the location, and opened a portal. Nastasia confirmed the terrain was familiar, so they hopped through.

The shift in worlds was familiar by now. It was clearer here, farther into warm weather, but his mind did not clear quickly to match. Nastasia touched a hand to his shoulder and pointed off into the distance. “Just a little farther that way,” she said. He lifted his wand again, instead setting his mind’s eye to the horizon.

“Where in the dickens are the two o’you takin’ us?” O’Chunks asked, taking care to make the large step down from the Count’s only slightly misplaced portal.

“You’ll see,” Nastasia replied. “One more push, sir.” She directed him once again.

The final portal placed the trio just outside a small community built around a wide river. The Count led them around the outskirts out of habit, but the locals who did spot them simply moved on with their business. He didn’t bother pulling up his hood.

They came up on a dock leading out into the silent river. There was a pebble-skinned lizard creature with one too many arms slouched at a shaded booth next to a supply shack. It lifted its head and tasted the air with its tongue as O’Chunks took the lead.

“You just need to, um, rent the fishing boat and some supplies,” Nastasia informed him, taking her place slightly behind. She stuck her hand out to the side, so the Count took it gently between his claws.

O’Chunks glanced back at Nastasia, his brows furrowed. “Fishing boat? Issat what yeh dragged us all the way out here for?”

Nastasia and the Count both nodded once, one with a touch more enthusiasm than the other. O’Chunks sighed, but a fond laugh escaped at the end and he rubbed his face. “Alright. Guess we’re fishin’ today.” He shielded his eyes and looked toward the sky. “Looks t’still be late morning here, yeah? Plenty o’time.”

“Howdy,” the lizard greeted as O’Chunks approached, still shaking his head. Its voice was far more musical than the Count had assumed it would be. “What can I do for y’all here?”

“We need a boat,” O’Chunks counted off his fingers. “An’, uh, a fishing pole, and some bait… The usual?”

The lizard rested its head on an arm. “We only got one fishing pole left. Popular spot, today.”

“Tha’s fine,” O’Chunks rumbled, glancing back at Nastasia again.

They left their things in the nearly-empty shack, though O’Chunks took a moment to retrieve his hat. “Don’t want a sunburn,” he said. The lizard hopped down from its booth and led them to the farthest dock, where a tiny boat was tethered to a post. The dock was nearly underwater, so the three of them picked carefully across the puddles and clambered into the boat. The Count gently ran a finger along the surface; it wasn’t made of wood, but he had no idea what it could have been made out of instead. Their guide drowsily waved good-bye as they pulled away from the dock.

“Oh, there’s all the other boats,” Nastasia sighed as they paddled past a bend through the shrubs and found a crowd.

“I don’t mind,” O’Chunks shrugged, poking at their bucket of bait.

The Count put his hands on the outer rim of the boat with the beginnings of a smirk creeping into his eyes. “I will take care of it. Grab hold of something.”

O’Chunks grabbed the other side of the boat. Nastasia grabbed O’Chunks.

He had never pushed something this big before, but he felt the energy growing in his arms and hands and flowing down into the material of the boat. It drifted backward for a moment while he gathered his power, and then he released. The boat tilted back and shot across the surface of the water, barely weaving through the crowd gathered in the wide, still pool. The other two yelped as they surged forward, but the Count kept his hands on the side.

All at once they passed through the crowd and flew down the river on the other side. The current was stronger here, and would hopefully carry them down to the next quiet pond. In the meantime, the Count sat back, sweat slicking his head and hands. Nastasia and O’Chunks let go of each other and Nastasia took a rattled breath.

He grinned at them. “I haven’t moved that quickly in…” He trailed off. His mind had automatically reached for a memory that was not there. When  _had_  he last felt the wind whipping past him like that? A pit was growing in his gut, so he decided not to dwell on it.

“Well, I’m awake now!” O’Chunks laughed. The boat turned gently in a swirling current, so O’Chunks dipped his hand in the river and corrected their course.

Nastasia just groaned. The Count reached out and patted her hand gently. “Are you alright, Nastasia?”

“I’m fine. I just, um, wasn’t ready.”

“Looks like the next pond is coming up, th’water’s gettin’ real slow,” O’Chunks pulled his hat back up so that it shaded his eyes again.

“Yeah, even if this one’s full, we’re not jetting across again,” Nastasia said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “You look tired, anyway, boss.”

“Admittedly, I have not cast a spell like that before…” The Count leaned back as far as he could against the support of the boat, facing the sky, letting his hands and head cool in the breeze.

O’Chunks leaned over, looking into the distance. “Looks like tha’ was the fishing spot. There’s no one ‘ere.”

Nastasia followed his gaze, humming. “We might not get any bites, then.”

“Har, well, then we’ll ‘ave t’skip the fish ‘n chips fer dinner is all,” O’Chunks said as he began fumbling around with their fishing pole.

The Count stared up at the sky in their drifting boat while O’Chunks and Nastasia realized they hadn’t asked their guide for help, and quietly discussed the fishing pole. It took them a few minutes to put together both their half-remembered fishing rules, but he closed his eyes and listened as the picture became clearer. Keep the entire arc of your swing clear of any bystanders- the hook WILL snag on them; don’t pull too hard; put the bait on the hook in such-and-such a fashion; don’t rock the boat and scare away the fish…

…

“First there’s Gavina,” O’Chunks began. The Count startled. What time was it?

“Oh, you woke up,” Nastasia turned her attention toward him. Noting his confused blinking, she added, “It was only ten minutes, sir.”

“What are we talking about?” he mumbled.

“Me siblings. I was just gonna… tell some stories.” O’Chunks absently jostled the fishing pole in his hands.

The Count sat up, trying to escape the heavy buzzing in his head. “Please continue.”

“Gavina was the oldest sibling, after me. Her favored weapon was the battle axe, and her favorite of those was this axe that must have been the same size as her. She called it the Last Laugh, maybe because she wasn’t shy about brandishing it if me ‘n me siblings got going with the japes. It was just about the only thing that could stop the twins and Cait, heh. Actually, one time Gav pulled it out of its holster so hard it got stuck in the ceiling. Me mum banned her from wearing it in the house when she cut through the stair railing without even taking it out. And then she was banned from carrying it in every building after that, one by one. She was good with it in battle! But only because I had the others give her a wide berth. I could swear the thing was enchanted, it ‘accidentally’ saved her from attacks from behind so often.”

“Where did she get an enchanted axe? I thought your world didn’t have, like, enchanted items.”

“I had th’same question meself, but she would only wink at me every time I asked. Guess we’ll never know.”

“Tell one about the twins.”

The boat rocked gently as O’Chunks shifted his weight.

“All right. Next up are Grey and Nareen, the twins. Except they didn’t much look like each other, so no one we met believed them. And after Nareen grew her hair out and started dressing differently, everyone thought they were dating… Don’t give me that look, all seven of us were quick to correct them. Actually, the opposite happened with Sun and his wife. We met a pair of brigadiers who could not  _believe_  they weren’t siblings. And they look nothing alike! She didn’t have the O’Chunks family nose. Anyway, little Grey decided they needed to be rivals. But Nareen wasn’t the competitive type… Every time Grey picked up an activity, looking to compete with her, Nareen would move to the opposite kind of thing. Say, Grey picked up a sword. Nareen would go practice coordinating with other commanders. Grey decided to learn how to bowl. Nareen took up a music instrument. Putting their skill sets together, they had just about all the bases covered…”

O’Chunks tugged idly at the fishing pole. Nastasia had been right to expect not to get a bite, but it was just as well. They chattered for a bit about organizing teams.

The Count occupied himself with again attempting to whistle. All he had managed to do so far was make that strange spluttering noise. O’Chunks would look over at him, every few tries, amusement growing in his smile.

Nastasia paused. “Have you tried, um, folding your tongue between…” O’Chunks barked out a laugh and she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know how I keep forgetting.” The Count glared at her while he spluttered again. O’Chunks passed her the fishing pole.

“I think yeh got a wee trill in there this time, Count.” Another glare, another hissing session.

“Me brother Sun is next. He was always hitting it off with the ladies harder than fifteen-year-old bread. And his lines were just as stale. But he gave such an earnest delivery that it was easy to believe he meant it anyway. One day, though… he was practicing with his bow when this woman walked by. Ah, stars, he made some comment about Cupid I think… She was so unimpressed that he panicked and said, ‘Sorry, I just flirted that out.’ And you can imagine how a  _pun_  went over with her, if she didn’t like the pickup line! After she suplexed him, he was just head over heels in love.”

Nastasia let out a harsh breath between her closed teeth. O’Chunks laughed and slapped his knee.

While Nastasia sat with the pole, O’Chunks dug their deck of cards out of his pocket. “Here, Count, I’m gonna teach yeh a magic trick.”

The Count sat up straighter, twisting his ears forward. “I thought you could not cast spells?”

He smirked. “Well, you’ll see. Here, pick a card.” He spread out the deck between his fingers. The Count chose the card on the farthest left side. O’Chunks held it up so the Count could see, but not him. Queen of diamonds. “Yeh got it memorized?” The Count nodded.

O’Chunks shuffled it into the deck. “Now, yeh see, some folks out there might not believe we humans can do much by way of magic,” he began, cutting the deck once, twice. “But! With good spirit, and the right amount of practice…”

“You have the wrong card.”

“What?” O’Chunks blinked. “I haven’t even shown you…” He flipped over the card. Three of clubs. He stared down at it owlishly. “How did yeh know?”

His frown grew deeper and he stared seriously at the Count. “Which card am I holding up?” He held a card out, facing away from the Count.

The Count closed his eyes, concentrating briefly. “Seven of clubs.”

“This one?”

A pause. “Jack of hearts.”

“This one?”

The Count frowned. “The three of clubs again.”

Nastasia stared between the two of them. O’Chunks set his jaw.

“Count… ‘Ave yeh been cheatin’ in our card games? Issat why yeh like Go Fish?”

The Count slapped his hands against the seat in outrage. “Of course not! Why would I cheat? Do I not lose half the time?”

“Yeh should lose two-thirds of the time!”

“That’s what I meant!”

“No, yeah, it would take the fun out of it…”

“Nastasia understands.” The Count leaned back again and folded his arms.

O’Chunks sighed and shook his head with a disgruntled growl. The cards went into the Count’s bag. Nastasia passed the Count the rod, and he dropped the baited hook off the side of the boat and watched it sink under the bright sparkling surface. He squinted and turned away, returning his attention to O’Chunks.

“Anyhow. Me youngest sister Cait enabled a whole lotta our nonsense. Thinking back on it, she might have been some kind of crazy mastermind, doing the whole thing on purpose. She always seemed the most clearheaded when we went out to celebrations or parties… She was just the worst singer though. She loved it, but none of us could hardly stand to hear it. And she was the one who remembered the lyrics best when all of us got hammered, of course. So she led the singing. I guess, when you’re that out of it, it dinnae matter anymore how on-key you were. Har har, imagine her, engineering all these situations just so she could have her fun without us ragging on her…”

The day’s activities were catching up with the Count. O’Chunks’ voice made a pleasant backdrop, a curtain of words over the blinding-bright light from the sky and the pool. He felt his body going slack, but it didn’t seem worth the energy to keep his posture, or to keep his eyes fully open. The light faded to a distant ring, off in the distance somewhere, behind O’Chunks’ recount of the wildest party his sister had gotten them into.

_You’re just a weepy drunk is all,_  a voice said, somewhere in the darkness. The Count’s eyes drooped closed.

“Is that normal?” He knew how this memory went. Or, he thought he knew. It was already gone.

“Hm?” Nastasia’s concern called his attention back to the boat. “Did you say something, sir?”

The Count rubbed at his eye. “N-no…” Then with a tug and a jolt the Count was snapped back to the present. He swiped clumsily at the pole, but the fish was big, and fast, and had already pulled the stick off the boat. The Count flailed as he tumbled forward.

With a yank on the back of his hood, O’Chunks pulled him back over the side of the boat before the water could claim him. But the sudden movement rocked the boat too far, and the tipping sent O’Chunks reeling and Nastasia planting her legs on the floor for balance. In order to avoid tripping over her, O’Chunks leaned too far to the side, and off the side he went with a loud splash.

The Count froze at the side of the boat. What to do? Where was the pole? Ah, ahead, it was still floating on the surface. It was getting away. O’Chunks floundered, trying to get his head back above the water, casting deep ripples across the surface and knocking the plants on the shores about. The Count threw out his hand and pulled back on the pole, struggling against the strength of the fish. How big was this creature? The line was going to snap…

Ah, the line and hook were gone. The pole flew back to his hand effortlessly after that. O’Chunks had righted himself and was gasping for air.

“What ‘appened, Count!?” O’Chunks cried, paddling back to where their boat had drifted away, carried on the ripples.

“I-I…” the Count shrank back, pulling the pole back over the side of the boat to the seats.

O’Chunks sighed. “Doesn’t matter tha’ much. I needed teh cool off anyways. Help me back up.” He gripped the low rim of the boat’s side.

“Wait!” Nastasia called before the boat tilted wildly again, sending the Count and Nastasia tumbling to the floor. Nastasia sprawled across the Count’s chest and stomach, knocking the wind out of him. She got up first. “O’Chunks, push us closer to shore first. ‘K? You can give yourself a leg up.”

The Count laid on his back, squinting up at the sky. The midday sun beat down, casting bright rings that overwhelmed his vision. The boat gently rocked. But he was awake now, struggling to get enough air. It really was very warm. But he knew he would be cold the moment he took off the cloak.

The boat tilted more mildly, this time, and O’Chunks heaved his weight off the floor of the river’s shore back into the boat. Water sprinkled off his drenched clothes in a brief, cool shower. O’Chunks stood over the Count, blocking the sun.

“Havin’ trouble seeing, Count?”

The Count could not make out any details under O’Chunks’ shadowed silhouette. He simply grunted and sat up, pushing his hair back with a claw.

He jolted at the sudden cold weight as O’Chunks slapped his hat on the Count’s head. The hat dripped down his nose and ears, and the back of his head, down onto the hood of the cloak and his shoulders in wet trickles. He scowled.

“Now  _tha’s_  a picture I want in my head forever,” O’Chunks laughed. Nastasia put her hand to her mouth. But the shade did bring some relief. “Nassy, pass me the sunscreen.”

As she dug the bottle out of the Count’s bag, O’Chunks settled back down on his seat to begin another story.

“Al was me littlest brother, as you know. He was the only one of us who was any good at math, but the lad had not a single lick of common sense. As a wee babe, we always had to keep him in our sights. He always got into the strangest situations. One time when he was twelve… Sun must have put him up to it. He tried to climb on the statue in front of our pa’s office, like he wanted to ride the horse or something. But there wasn’t any room, so he just kept climbing, and he ended up on top of the hero’s shoulders. Har, the hero’s story is long, too… Ecmar, he was called. He was from our hometown. Anyway, Alastair couldn’t get down, so Sun and I sat with him until Gav could find a ladder. Not a lot of ladders, around our town… He never changed, all the way up until twenty…”  

The Count tipped the drying hat back and freed his forehead from the damp stickiness. “You have known so many people,” he marveled.

“Yeah…” O’Chunks sighed and leaned back, setting the closed sunscreen container on the bench next to him. He traded it out for his water bottle. “Still miss ‘em. Always will.”

The Count and Nastasia sat silently. The Count was unsure how to proceed, and he knew Nastasia didn’t trust herself to tread carefully, after this morning.

“It’s jus’… it leaves behind a big hole in yer life, yeh know? Not just them, but everything yeh used to  _do_  with ‘em… Everything yeh used to know…”

“You have us now?” Nastasia offered quietly.

O’Chunks’ voice cracked. “Yeh just aren’t th’same shape as what they left behind. I love yeh guys, but, yeh can’t replace ‘em. You can only be somethin’ new.”

The Count startled at the sudden tears. He and Nastasia gawked at each other, for a moment. But he came to a decision. The Count floated over to the other side of the boat- it became even more lopsided, with the change in weight, but it didn’t tip. He sat next to O’Chunks and leaned against his side. Nastasia leaned around O’Chunks’ bulk to see what he was doing, and then followed suit. O’Chunks weakly put his arms around the two of them.

“What shall we tell that lizard creature about the missing hook?” The Count wondered idly, after a long time.

O’Chunks groaned and pushed his hat farther down on the Count’s head. “We’ll just tie on a new one.”


End file.
